Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
No matter how much I keep thinking about Rowan’s full lips and the way he made me swoon. Or how his fingers speared through my hair and his hand pressed just right on my back. Or how I gripped his shirt for dear life.
Sabrina gives me a resigned nod. “If it were up to me, I’d want it to happen again for you,” she says with some reluctance. “But I respect that you don’t want that. When will you see him next? For another matchmaking event?”
A tingle shoots down my spine as I glance at a wall clock where a dog’s wagging tail keeps time. Only three more hours. “Actually, we’re going Christmas shopping later today,” I say and hope I’m not beaming too much.
Leighton’s brow knits as she tilts her head. “Is that part of matchmaking?”
I suppose no, Christmas shopping isn’t technically part of matchmaking prep. But Rowan’s an ornery one, prone to dating ambush, so today’s dating 101 session will be a good chance for a reset. “Let’s call it a teachable moment,” I say.
I’m met with raised eyebrows from both of them. There’s silence for a beat till Sabrina breaks it, asking, “What even is that?”
That’s a good question. One that makes me wonder if I said yes to the shopping offer for the chance to teach him. Or because I like spending time with him.
I flash back on the cookie swap. The way my head pounded as he talked to other women. How my jaw tightened as he flirted with them.
As we help Calypso, Clinton, and Snickerdoodle find homes, I’m pretty sure I know the answer to why I said yes to dating 101.
How to handle it though is the new question. Especially with time running out.
17
I DARE YOU TO DATE ME
ISLA
As I wait outside the main entrance to the Ferry Building by the San Francisco Bay, I’m playing a word game with Mabel on my phone. We have to beat the timer and each other to make the most words out of six given letters. Bonus points for innuendos. Contemplating whether “chad” can be a euphemism for “dick,” I check the time on the clock tower.
I’m a few minutes early and Rowan should be here soon. The game was meant to keep my mind from wandering to last night for the four-thousand-and-ninety-first time, but I’m struggling to think of words other than kiss, more, and melt.
The breeze from the bay carries the scent of the ocean and draws my focus from the game. Hmm. Has the water always smelled this good? Like a strong, sturdy man rising out of its depths, droplets of water glistening on his chest, sliding down his pecs?
I close my eyes briefly and let the alluring scent wash over me. It smells good. Familiar. It reminds me of—
“Still thinking of last night?”
My eyes snap open. Rowan stands in front of me, dressed in jeans and a navy blue Henley, a light jacket slung over his arm. His lips quirk up in a teasing grin. His beard is neat and trim, like last night, when that yummy scruff barely whisked across my face.
My pulse skitters. “Just thinking of all the gifts I can buy with you to carry them,” I snap back, hoping the lie isn’t as obvious as the flush spreading across my cheeks. “And why did you sneak up on me like that?”
Rowan arches a brow. “I didn’t. I just walked over like a normal person. You had your eyes closed, standing next to a very public lamppost with a Christmas garland on it.”
Ugh. Fine. He’s right. “But why would you say that instead of just saying…I don’t know…hi?”
He tilts his head and studies me for a beat. “Just having fun, but no worries. I’ll stop. No fun today. I swear.” He gives a gentlemanly tip of his head. “Hi.”
Shoot. I overreacted. I gulp, then fasten on a smile. “Hi.”
Rowan smirks, his green eyes sparking with…secrets. “Hi,” he says again, like it’s a game, and this time he speaks with a little more gravel in his tone.
The rasp in his voice makes my stomach flip.
So does his cologne—since now that I’m closer to him, it’s clear I wasn’t lusting after the bay. I was longing for him and that unfairly sexy scent. What, do I have a crush on freaking Poseidon now, for fox’s sake?
This is not helping—my libido’s overactive response to him.
I shake it off, gesturing to the building’s entrance. “Ready to carry all the heavy things?”
“Ready and waiting for purchases and dating wisdom,” he says as he flexes an arm, the fabric of his shirt stretching over his rippling biceps. Why do athletes have to be so muscly?
Because they work with their bodies, you dingus.
Drawing a deep, fortifying breath, I head inside, patting a white tote bag with the word Merry in a pretty scripted green font on the side. It centers me—it has my list and everything I need in it for our working shopping trip, like canvas bags for the gifts I’ll buy.